


the prince and me

by nezumiprefersdanielleovershakespeare



Category: No. 6 (Anime & Manga), No. 6 - All Media Types, No. 6 - Asano Atsuko
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 14:26:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11106441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nezumiprefersdanielleovershakespeare/pseuds/nezumiprefersdanielleovershakespeare
Summary: Nezumi has been a servant boy in the royal castle for eight years, his topmost duty being to cater directly to the prince - Shion. While Nezumi does not find his duties particularly difficult, a nearly impossible part of his job includes hiding his feelings for the prince he has loved for as long as he can remember.Preview:“You’re okay with this?”“With?” Nezumi asks, leaning back from the prince, stepping back to put space between them because they are much too close, sometimes Nezumi worries that they are much too close for what he can stand.“Me getting married,” Shion says, and Nezumi raises an eyebrow.“Aren’t you typically supposed to ask the father of the bride for permission? I was not aware I had a daughter, especially not one in such a high enough place to court Your Majesty.”“Nezumi,” Shion says, and Nezumi waits for the rest, but nothing comes.He exhales, looks away from Shion, at the mirror where he can see Shion’s reflection looking at him too earnestly, where he can see his own reflection, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, ponytail half out, bangs scattered.He sees a prince and a servant.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote and posted this fic in February, 2015, and I'll be reposting it one chapter every day (even though clearly it's already completed). 
> 
> I'm reposting some of my old fics from the many accounts I previously deleted over the past few years, so if you're familiar with my fics and want to request that I repost a certain old fave, feel free to message me at my tumblr: http://coolasamackerel.tumblr.com or comment on this post: http://coolasamackerel.tumblr.com/post/160488980276/danielles-nezushifree-fics and I'll be happy to consider reposting it! For both my new readers and my old guys, hope you enjoy the fic!! :D

Technically, the prince is late, but Nezumi is not his alarm clock, and feels no guilt in hesitating to wake the snoring teen.

            He takes his time to observe the tuft of white hair sprouting from a blanket that must be suffocating the kid, pulled up so high over his head and covering his entire body but for the arm dangling off his bed.

            Nezumi leans closer to listen and is granted a soft snore, which satisfies him – the prince has not suffocated in his sleep, although death would be an unarguable excuse for being late to breakfast. Now, Nezumi will be forced to think of another excuse, and he sighs, leaning back and kicking the dangling hand.

            “The sun has risen just for you, Your Majesty, why don’t you greet it?” he says, in a cheerful singsong, and the blanket seems to absorb both the formerly visible tuft of hair and the arm with a soft groan.

            Nezumi blows his bangs from his forehead with a rough exhale, then turns around only so that he can fall back and sit on the stubborn prince.

            “Mmgrph,” says the mass he sits on, and Nezumi crosses one leg over the other and nods.

            “Very astute, Your Majesty. Be sure to share that sentiment with the queen.”

            There is more shuffling underneath him, but Nezumi refuses to get up, although he is forced to clutch the mattress for balance when the prince attempts to shove him off the bed with feet still covered in the blanket.

            “I would say you appear to have gotten up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, but as you are still in said bed, I am forced to outright call you unnecessarily grumpy, which I regret because it is not my place to be insulting royalty, but you leave me no choice. Grumpy _and_ rude, might I add, humbly, of course,” Nezumi observes, not at all struggling to keep the nonchalance in his voice despite the rather serious effort he needs to exert at this point to keep himself on top of the prince, whose kicks have increased in strength.

            Nezumi glances down at the mass under the blanket and shakes his head, imagining the bedhead the prince is giving himself with his useless efforts.

            “Although I guess I can’t blame you for wanting to stay in bed. The shame must be crippling. To think, the mere _servant boy_ wished the queen a happy birthday before her own beloved son – ”

            The kicking stops immediately, but Nezumi finally falls off both the prince and the bed as the latter practically hurdles out from under the blanket.

            “It’s Mom’s birthday!” Shion shouts, and Nezumi rubs his elbow from the floor where he’d practically been flung as he peers up to see the prince standing on his bed, hair just as delightfully disheveled as he’d predicted, face flushed, and eyes wide.

            “Good morning, Your Majesty,” Nezumi says, bowing only his head, as he is still sprawled on the floor, and Shion glances down at him.

            The prince’s grin blemishes the panic of his expression, which is immediately relaxed as he jumps down from the bed and offers Nezumi his hand.

            “That’s what you get for sitting on me,” he says, in what Nezumi sees as a poor excuse for an apology, but he takes the prince’s hand anyway and allows Shion to pull him from the floor.

            “You’re late,” he returns, and the panic is back, Shion’s fingers disappearing from around Nezumi’s palm as he runs to his bathroom.

            “Why didn’t you say something earlier! I can’t believe I forgot,” Shion groans, as the sink runs.

            Nezumi glares at the bathroom doorway before turning to make the prince’s bed. “I’m not your alarm clock,” he reminds, and Shion makes some garbled comment back, which Nezumi takes to mean he is brushing his teeth.

            Once he’s finished making Shion’s bed, Nezumi goes to lean against the bathroom doorway and watches Shion’s pathetic attempts to flatten his hair.

            “Why does it do this?” Shion groans, and Nezumi doesn’t bother to hide his smirk.

            “I think it’s cute. And it is perfect for birds to nestle in if they get tired of flight halfway to their nests. Think of the charity you could offer to the winged-species, Your Majesty. Such benevolence, I’ve never admired you more,” Nezumi adds, bowing fully when Shion turns to glare at him.

            “Who else is here?” Shion asks, brushing Nezumi’s side as he walks by him out of the bathroom.

            “Everyone,” Nezumi replies, following Shion to his closet.

            “Already?”

            “I didn’t just say ‘You’re late’ for the joy of having you yell at me to wake you earlier,” Nezumi says, shaking his head when Shion holds up a button-down shirt. “Go with the light blue, it’s the queen’s favorite,” he says, and Shion walks deeper into his closet, searching on the wrong side.

            “Is she mad?” he asks, while Nezumi finds the shirt and throws it at the prince, who only just catches it.

            “How could anyone ever be mad at Your Majesty?” Nezumi asks imploringly, batting his eyelashes for good measure, waiting for Shion to complain about his teasing, but instead the prince looks up from buttoning his shirt.

            “You’ve got to come with me,” he says, and Nezumi knew this was coming even though he hoped it wouldn’t.

            “No,” he says simply, throwing Shion a pair of clean pants.

            “Please! I can’t deal with everyone without you!”

            “It’s the royal court. Your kind. Stop complaining, you’ll have a blast. If the conversation dims, start talking about caviar,” Nezumi replies, looking through Shion’s shoes to find a pair without mud. The idiot needs to stop his nature walks, it’s getting ridiculous.   
            “Nezumi – ”

            “I’ve got enough to do without shining your shoes, so may I advise that Your Majesty limits the playing in the mud to once a week?” Nezumi asks mildly, hoping to steer the conversation to a different topic, but the prince has always been stubborn, and remains so, adding his fingers to Nezumi’s sleeve so that Nezumi is forced to glance at him.

            He notes, in Shion’s close proximity, that the prince has crease lines from his pillow on his cheek, like a second scar. He can smell the mint of Shion’s toothpaste on his breath. The persistent bedhead looks so soft it’s taunting, and Nezumi glances away again, staring at a skid of mud on the side of one pair of dress shoes.

            He’ll clean them while Shion is at breakfast. After he puts the laundry in. Before he gets the knots out of the mane of Shion’s horse.

            “Mom would want you to come.”

            “The queen knows that a servant boy has no place at her breakfast table, especially not when the rest of the court is present to celebrate her birthday. It’s time the prince realized the same thing,” Nezumi replies, shifting his arm out from Shion’s grasp and plucking a shined pair of shoes from the shelf. “Wear these.”

            “You’re so annoying when you do this,” Shion complains.

            “Ask you to wear shoes? My deepest apologies, I’ll never make the mistake again,” Nezumi replies, and Shion looks up from tying his shoes.

            “You know what I mean.”

            “Mmm,” Nezumi hums, not seeing the point in responding any further. It’s a conversation that will go in circles, and they don’t have time for the tiresome routine with Shion already late. “Should I mention your lateness again, or are we not concerned with time anymore?”

            Shion stands up, crosses his arms over his chest, no longer appears concerned of his lateness to his own mother’s birthday.

            “I won’t go if you don’t,” he says, and Nezumi laughs, reaching out to fold down the fool’s collar.

            His fingers linger a little longer on the fabric than they have to, but Shion doesn’t seem to notice – he never seems to notice, but then, Nezumi is well aware, a prince does not have any business to be noticing the actions of his servant boy.

            The perfect help is undetected, and undetected is quite the opposite of inviting himself to the queen’s breakfast.

            “Don’t laugh at me!” Shion says, in a whine that is reminiscent of the first day Nezumi came to live in the castle at twelve years old – almost eight years before.

            “Go on, Your Majesty. Don’t worry the queen,” Nezumi says gently, dropping his hands from Shion’s collar and nodding. “Spare me the torture of mingling with the other royals, you’re a handful enough yourself, you know,” he adds, letting Shion off the hook, a silent request for the idiot prince to just drop this nonsense of his.

            “You don’t have to talk to them. You can just talk to me,” Shion replies, and Nezumi grits his teeth, turns before he says something irresponsible.

            He may be closer to the prince than any of the other staff, but he knows his place, and telling off the idiot for being an idiot is too stupid for even Nezumi to consider, no matter how tempting the prince routinely makes it.

            “Please?” Shion asks, and Nezumi nearly turns back around, but instead he waves his hand behind him, walking out of the closet.

            “Remember to avoid the twins from Denmark,” he says, keeping his voice even despite wanting to snap.

            It’s hard, not to resent the prince for his ignorance in terms of what Nezumi can and cannot do. For his insistence that they are _equal_ when they are, most certainly, not.

            Even so, resentment is not all Nezumi feels towards the prince, but this the prince does not need to know of either feeling, and Nezumi would in fact admit to resentment first.

            There is silence, and then the prince’s footsteps, followed by the open and close of his door. Only then does Nezumi allow himself to relax, giving himself a moment of quiet to simply stand in the prince’s room before he reenters the closet, picking up Shion’s discarded pajamas – the t-shirt warm in his hands – to add to the load of laundry.

*

Nezumi is in Shion’s tub when the prince returns.

            “Hi,” the prince says in announcement, but Nezumi does not look up from the porcelain that he is scrubbing.

            “Your Majesty,” he replies, to the porcelain, wiping the back of his hand over his forehead, forgetting that his hand is covered in soap that he feels coating his bangs.

            “You got soap in your hair,” the prince says, unnecessarily, and Nezumi finally glances up at him.

            “How were your pancakes, Your Majesty?” he asks, but the question is no sooner out of his lips before he notices that there is something odd in the prince’s features.

            He puts down his scrubbing brush and settles in the tub, folding his legs and leaning back against the tile he just scrubbed clean.

            “The tub looks good,” Shion says quietly, and Nezumi notices his fingers worrying the cuff of his sleeve.

            “My proudest achievement to date,” Nezumi replies, but slowly, trying to gauge what is wrong with the prince, thinking through the possibilities of what could have happened at breakfast.

            “Can I talk to you about something?” Shion asks, and Nezumi narrows his eyes, officially concerned.

            The prince never ceases to shut up, and surely never asks permission to voice his nonsense to Nezumi.

            “Of course, Your Majesty,” Nezumi says carefully, and Shion takes a deep breath that raises his chest beneath his shirt, which he has unbuttoned partly, the first three holes lying open.

            Nezumi watches the fall of his chest in an exhale that continues until even the prince’s shoulders are hunched.

            Shion seems to fall against the doorframe. “Since it’s Mom’s birthday and all, there was a lot of talk about her getting older and…succession. You know, mine. To be king,” Shion says, to the floor, and Nezumi nods even though the prince isn’t looking at him.

            He knows where this conversation is going. The cooks were just talking about it, after all. Everyone knows about it – everyone but the prince, of course.

            A complete idiot, Nezumi thinks. Head in the clouds. No sense of reality whatsoever.

            “I have to get married, Nezumi,” Shion says, looking at him now, and Nezumi attempts to smirk but finds he cannot, despite this being his natural response to most of the prince’s acts of idiocy.

            “I know,” he says instead, and his voice is quieter than he’d intended, but at least it didn’t crack – he closes his eyes, so grateful his voice didn’t crack.

            He wants to stand up, does not want to be sitting in Shion’s tub anymore, but he cannot seem to move, so he just opens his eyes and waits for the prince’s response.

            “You did? Of course you did. I mean, it’s the law, I knew that, I just – I guess I forgot. Or thought it would be changed. Or – How am I supposed to get married, Nezumi?” Shion asks, eyes wide, looking as though Nezumi will truly have the answer because Nezumi always has the answer – the proper servant boy can answer his prince’s every request.

            Nezumi shrugs. “Every girl in the city loves you. Shouldn’t be too difficult, for such a handsome prince,” he says, forcing himself to stand now and step out of the tub, washing his hands in the sink and refusing to look at the mirror, grabbing squares of toilet paper to wipe the soap from his hair.

            Shion is silent, which isn’t altogether normal for him, but Nezumi doesn’t worry about it.

            He doesn’t have time to worry about it. He has more chores to do, and attempts to exit the bathroom, but the prince stops him, stepping in his way.

            “Excuse me, Your Majesty, I have carpets to vacuum,” Nezumi says, offering the prince a smile, but he receives a creased gaze in response.

            “You’re okay with this?”

            “With?” Nezumi asks, leaning back from the prince, stepping back to put space between them because they are much too close, sometimes Nezumi worries that they are much too close for what he can stand.

            “Me getting married,” Shion says, and Nezumi raises an eyebrow.

            “Aren’t you typically supposed to ask the father of the bride for permission? I was not aware I had a daughter, especially not one in such a high enough place to court Your Majesty.”

            “Nezumi,” Shion says, and Nezumi waits for the rest, but nothing comes.

            He exhales, looks away from Shion, at the mirror where he can see Shion’s reflection looking at him too earnestly, where he can see his own reflection, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, ponytail half out, bangs scattered.

            He sees a prince and a servant.

            He looks back at Shion. “I don’t understand what you’re asking me, Your Majesty,” he says evenly, crossing his arms over his chest.

            “I’m asking you to be honest.”

            “I would never lie to Your – ”

            “Can you stop calling me that?” Shion snaps, and it is Nezumi’s cue to back down, to smile easily and laugh and throw Shion an insult – Prince Bedhead, always a favorite, or a choice name from one of the Shakesperean plays that Shion used to beg Nezumi to read to him, when they were younger, back when they were even allowed to fall asleep in the same bed – but Nezumi is sick of his cues.

            He glares right back at the prince, even though a servant has no place to be glaring at his prince.

            “No, I can’t,” he replies, angrily, allowing his resentment to show because he will admit to resentment before the other thing he feels too deeply – resentment is easier, resentment is safer.

            He shoves his way past Shion, and Shion does not stop him, does not even call him back, does not lecture him on the proper way to act around a prince, and Nezumi wishes he would – he needs a reminder, he needs every reminder he can get. That Shion is a prince and Nezumi is not. That this cannot, will not, shall not change.

*

Nezumi lounges on the prince’s bed, flipping through the binder of eligible bachelorettes, already approved by the royal court.

            “What about that one?” Shion asks, lying on his stomach beside Nezumi and pointing to a blond girl just as Nezumi turns the page.

            He turns back and scrutinizes the girl Shion pointed at, narrowing his eyes.

            “Her nostrils are too big,” he says decisively, and flips the page again.

            “What are you talking about? They were normal. Small, if anything.”

            “Small, if anything?” Nezumi asks, looking at the prince in astonishment. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

            “You’re the one being ridiculous,” Shion murmurs, rolling over and pulling his blanket over his head, but not quite achieving the burrowing effect he might have been going for, as Nezumi sits on one side of the blanket and does not allow Shion to pull too much of it.

            “What was that, Your Majesty?” Nezumi asks airily, as he flips past a girl whom, he decides, is definitely not suited for the prince due to her uncannily small ears.

            The blanket is whipped off Shion’s face, and he glares up at Nezumi. “I said, you’re being ridiculous. I didn’t even want to look at the stupid binder, and after you insist for an hour, I finally agree only for you to dismiss every single girl. That is textbook ridiculous, Nezumi.”

            Nezumi waves his hand at the dramatic prince. “I haven’t dismissed every girl,” he argues, which is true – he even advocated the third girl listed, claiming not to have noticed the red DECEASED written in the corner of the page that Shion helpfully pointed out to him.

            “I don’t want to do this anyway. Let’s stop.”

            “I promised the queen I’d help you find someone. I’m not taking the blame for your laziness,” Nezumi replies, and Shion sits up, their shoulders brushing until he pivots so that he faces Nezumi.

            “I agreed to try, didn’t I? But you’re not making it any easier, rejecting every girl I point at,” Shion says, and Nezumi looks away, down at the binder open on his lap, showcasing what would probably make the perfect princess – all of these girls would be the perfect princess, just not for Shion, not for _his_ prince.

            Nezumi looks back at the prince, whose eyes are a bit too wide, who watches him a bit too earnestly, who really shouldn’t be looking at his servant in such a way, it gives the wrong idea, it gives the impossible idea.

            Nezumi straightens his shoulders, offers the prince an easy grin. “Just trying to find your perfect wife. It’s hard to find someone good enough for Your Majesty, after all.”

            An uncomfortable expression crosses Shion’s face before he pitches forward and groans against Nezumi’s crossed legs, on which he rests his cheek as he turns his head to look up at him.

            “Something wrong, Your Majesty?” Nezumi asks mildly, glancing down at the prince in his lap.

            “The perfect wife? Nezumi, I have to get married.”

            “I thought we established that,” Nezumi muses.

            “I can’t get married,” Shion groans, tilting his face back against Nezumi’s legs and making more incoherent but equally pathetic noises.

            “You’re the prince, Your Majesty. There is nothing you cannot do,” Nezumi announces, airily, but when the prince’s fingers curl around Nezumi’s ankle, Nezumi softens his tone and sighs. “Your Majesty,” he says, and he waits.

            Slowly, the prince sits up, cheek and fingers leaving Nezumi’s legs. He peers up at Nezumi, and Nezumi resents his red eyes, the imploring look they offer him like it’s nothing – and it is nothing, Nezumi knows this.

            “Why can’t you get married?” Nezumi asks, sliding the binder of eligible bachelorette’s off his lap and leaning closer to the prince, who blinks.

            Shion’s gaze drops, and he’s looking around the bed they sit on as if the answer has fallen there before looking back at Nezumi. “You’ll say it’s stupid.”

            “I won’t.”

            “You will,” Shion argues.

            “I won’t,” Nezumi argues back.

            “You will,” Shion says again, and Nezumi considers shoving him before remembering he’s being serious, he’s trying to help this stupid prince whom he resents so much.

            “Your Majesty,” Nezumi warns, and Shion’s shoulders sag.

            “Promise you won’t laugh or smirk or mock me.”

            “Am I allowed to breathe, at least?” Nezumi asks, lips quirking, but he stops his smirk from growing at the prince’s glare. “Fine, no mockery whatsoever. You have stripped me of my derision. Continue in peace.”

            Shion exhales loudly, then inhales deeply, then exhales again. Nezumi restrains from tapping his fingers against his knee, and then Shion is staring at him in that way he does when he’s about to say something _resolute,_ something stubborn, something probably incredibly stupid, but nonetheless unarguable, in Nezumi’s experience with the prince.

            “I’ve always wanted to be in love with the person I marry,” the prince says, not looking away from Nezumi.

            The queen’s birthday was a week ago. For three days after their conversation in the bathroom, Nezumi attempted to limit his conversations with the prince, to mimic the relationships of those of the prince and the rest of the staff.

            It was only at the end of the third day when Nezumi was bringing him his late-night cup of tea, and the prince stopped him with a hand on his wrist, asked him, “Are you mad at me, Nezumi?” to which Nezumi could not resist the warmth on his skin, and replied, “Of course not, Your Majesty,” that Nezumi allowed things to go back to normal.

            In his three days of distance, after all, Nezumi had not felt any better.

            By today, their normalcy has long since been resumed.

            Nezumi’s racing heart is completely normal. The warmth over his skin has been normal for years. The belonging he feels is no longer strange.

            The contentment only the prince can offer him is no longer questioned.

            He is used to these feelings, equally used to putting them aside, and he does so now with ease.

            “Such idealistic goals are a little naïve, don’t you think?” Nezumi asks gently, not mocking the prince at all because he truly believes his words – to be with the person one loves is a dream, nothing but a dream, best to let go of the hope before it can bloom, best to be realistic about it before there can be any disappointment.

            “That’s not idealistic,” Shion argues, a crease forming between his eyes, and Nezumi imagines that he is smoothing the furrow of skin with his forefinger.

            “For Your Majesty, it may be.”

            Shion crosses his arms, and Nezumi bites the inside of his cheek so he will not smile at the stubborn prince’s pout. “So because I’m a prince, love becomes idealistic?”

            Nezumi mimics him, crossing his own arms over his own chest, aware that this can be construed as _mocking,_ which technically the prince forbade, but he is only a prince still, so his laws mean nothing as yet.

            “Convenient love does, as you can see.”

            “Maybe this is convenient!” the prince objects, uncrossing his arms to point at the binder beside Nezumi. “Maybe I’ll fall in love with one of these eligible bachelorettes!”

            Nezumi finally allows his smile. “Then, Your Majesty, what exactly is the problem at hand?” he asks, leaning forward, watching as the prince’s anger fades into realization, then back to anger quickly again, though this time it is tinged in sullenness.

            “You tricked me on purpose.”

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nezumi replies, uncrossing his own arms to stretch. He unfolds his legs and slides off the prince’s bed.

            “I wish you’d take me seriously,” Shion complains, and Nezumi glances back at him.

            “I always take Your Majesty seriously.”

            “No, you don’t.”

            “If you’ll allow it, Your Majesty, may I remind you that there are worse things than getting married,” Nezumi points out, turning to face the prince fully.

            Shion holds his gaze for just a moment, then looks away, at the binder of eligible bachelorettes Nezumi left on the bed.

            “Take some time tonight to look through that again,” Nezumi says quietly, turning back around and stopping at the door. “The queen wants to set up meetings with them as soon as possible.”

            Nezumi is out the door and nearly has it closed behind him when the prince’s voice slinks through the crack.

            “Nezumi,” he calls, and Nezumi freezes, hand on the doorknob, reminding himself that Shion is a prince, Shion is a prince, Shion is a prince, and Nezumi is just a servant boy, before he opens the door enough to stick his head through, his breath catching in his throat.

            Shion has gotten up, is standing right next to the door, and Nezumi can feel Shion’s exhales on his cheeks.

            “Good night,” Shion whispers, his lips moving so close to Nezumi’s that Nezumi can practically feel them on his, isn’t sure if they touch or not – no, definitely not, of course not.

            “Good night, Your Majesty,” Nezumi murmurs back, when his breath has been caught once more, and then he pulls away, closes the door gently on the prince, stands still for a moment, then leans against the door, hand still on the doorknob, listening to hear Shion’s footsteps back to his bed, but he hears nothing.

            That may just be due to his own heartbeat, which is rather loud in his ears, rapid and deafening – but Nezumi is used to this, hardly notices this, easily ignores this.

*

Nezumi rooms with one of the cooks who goes by the name Spoon to the rest of the staff, and whom Nezumi has traded a total of about four words with.

            When he returns to his room late that night, expecting Spoon to be asleep as usual, the man is instead sitting up in bed, reading one of Nezumi’s books.

            “Thought I’d give it a try, since you’ve got your nose in it every spare moment,” Spoon says, when Nezumi opens their door, and Nezumi simply looks at him until Spoon throws _Macbeth_ onto Nezumi’s bunk. “Not my taste. They talk weird.”

            Nezumi replaces _Macbeth_ on his bookshelf silently.

            “With the prince then, hm?” Spoon asks, not quite scornfully, as the staff actually respects Shion, who never quite treats them like staff – yet there is undeniably the fact that they _are_ staff, and Shion is a prince, and that fact cannot be ignored. “’Course you were. You always are, aren’t you?”

            Nezumi pulls off his shirt and undoes his ponytail. He changes into sweatpants and lies on his bed, hoping Spoon will get the hint.

            “Look, I mean, I never had anything against you, man. It’s not cooks against manservants or nothing like that. But sometimes they’ll be talking about you, and I don’t add any dirt, but I figured I’d tell you, since we’re roommates, and all,” Spoon continues.

            Nezumi stares at the ceiling. He doesn’t talk with much of the staff. He spends most of his time with the prince.

            “Rumors flying, you know how they do. Of a – well, don’t wanna be out of place or anything – but you should know, that’s all I’m saying. About the rumors of a crush, you know how it is. Forbidden love, that dumb shit people eat up, I mean, we gotta find ways to pass the time, that’s all,” Spoon keeps going, almost apologetically now, and Nezumi closes his eyes.

            He used to sleep on the same bed as the prince. He’d fall asleep, reading the prince Shakespeare, and wake with his book placed on the prince’s bedside table and his hand placed within the prince’s slackened fingers.

            They were young, then. Just two boys, but of course, they were never just two boys – one was a prince, and one was not. Shion would say they were friends – but they weren’t, and they both knew it.

            “So, just thought I’d tell ya then. Is all. Night, then,” Spoon says, gruffly now, and Nezumi listens to the creaks of his mattress as he shuffles around on his bed, gets himself comfy, turns off the lamp they share.

            In the darkness, Nezumi opens his eyes again. He collects his wages in a wooden box under his bed. He has enough now, to leave the castle. He’s had enough for a few years, but in the castle there is always a bed, there is always food, there is always a place to work.

            There is always the prince.

            He’ll recount his wages in the morning, wake up a little early so there’s time before he needs to iron the prince’s shirts for his meetings with the eligible bachelorettes he chooses.

            He’ll speak to the queen, arrange the date he will leave the castle.

            He’ll try to think of a way to tell the prince, but not until the morning – for now, Nezumi allows himself the night to dream.

*


	2. Chapter 2

“I see,” the queen says, looking at Nezumi in the knowing way with which she has always looked at him, although he cannot say he has gotten used to it, nor has he figured out exactly what it is the queen knows.

            Sometimes, the queen requests the kitchen from the cooking staff, and this morning is one of those times. She doesn’t look quite like royalty, with flour coating the wisps of her hair that have escaped her loose bun, with her sleeves rolled up, with an apron donned.

            “I won’t question whether you are sure on this, as I know you well enough that I’d hardly expect you’d tell me such a thing without being absolutely certain. And I won’t try to stop you – You have always been free to leave, if you wanted,” the queen says, gently, and Nezumi nods once.

            He has never felt trapped in the castle. He inhales deeply, can tell the queen has been baking cherry pie, the prince’s favorite.

            He’s grateful; it will be something to cheer the prince up, if he takes Nezumi’s news badly.

            “When will you leave?” the queen asks, and Nezumi glances at the counter, littered with flour and a rolling pin, before he looks back at the queen.

            It’s not that he needs time to think about it, but he doesn’t want the queen to think he is acting rashly.

            “Tomorrow morning. I will tell His Majesty tonight,” Nezumi says quietly. He cannot stay while the prince chooses a wife. He cannot stay while the prince falls in love.

            “Will you slip out in the morning, without saying goodbye?” the queen asks, and Nezumi blinks.

            “This is my goodbye,” he says, after a pause, because, yes, he was planning to slip out in the early morning, maybe before the sun rose.

            The queen smiles a small smile, walks over to Nezumi, who stands in the doorway of the kitchen, and Nezumi is unsure what to do when she puts her arms around him.

            The queen used to hug him, when he was younger. Quick hugs, one for Shion, one for him, when she bid them goodnight. But when Nezumi stopped sleeping in the prince’s room, he was no longer present to receive the queen’s hugs. To feel her warmth, the softness of her skin, pressed against his.

            It takes everything, not to sink into her, but she is the queen, so Nezumi stays still until she pulls away, though her hand finds his cheek, cups it.

            “I hope you know, and do not ever forget, how much we love you, Nezumi,” the queen says, and Nezumi feels his lips open in a small inhale of air.

            He does not reply. He does not know what he would reply, if he felt that he could.

            _I didn’t know,_ is one option.

            _Who is ‘we’?_ is another option.

            _Me?_ is another option.

            But Nezumi chooses silence, and the queen’s hand falls from his face.

            “This will always be your home, whenever you wish it to be,” the queen says, and then she turns.

            Nezumi stands still for another pause, then bows to her back, offers a whispered, “Thank you, Your Majesty,” to the floor, then leaves the kitchen.

            The prince is next, and Nezumi knows Shion must be wondering where he is, but he can’t quite talk to him now, he needs to clear his head, so he exits the castle through a back door and walks around the grounds, glad of the cold that bites his cheeks and makes it hard to think about anything but the sting of its teeth.

*

Nezumi knocks on Shion’s door.

            “Where have you been?” the prince shouts the moment the door opens, and then the prince’s hand is around Nezumi’s wrist, pulling him in.

            “Hello, Your Majesty,” Nezumi replies, bowing his head, while the prince lets go of his wrist and flops on his bed.

            “I spent the entire day looking for you. The entire day!” Shion insists, while Nezumi leans against the wall across from him.

            “Well, I’m here now,” Nezumi replies simply, slipping his hands in his pockets.

            Shion pulls his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around them. “Where were you?” he asks, resting his chin on his knees.

            “Nowhere. Around the castle. Doing chores,” Nezumi replies, glancing away from him, around the prince’s room, thinking this will be the last time he’ll ever be in here – what a strange thought, what a strange feeling.

            Not that it matters. The room is just a room. A nice room, sure, but Nezumi has never really cared for decadence, despite constantly being surrounded by it.

            “What chores?” the prince is demanding, and Nezumi glances at him from the corners of his eyes.

            “Why so curious?” he asks, smiling lightly.

            “Why so elusive?” Shion shoots back, and Nezumi allows himself to laugh.

            “Don’t be so self-centered, Your Majesty. I can’t give you all of my time, as much as it would please me,” Nezumi says, smirking at the prince, who, of course, does not seem to realize he’s being teased.

            He sighs – rather dramatically, in Nezumi’s opinion – and frowns. “Well, I think you should.”

            “Should what?”

            “Give me all of your time,” the prince says, just like that, and Nezumi grits his teeth before forcing another smile.

            “Don’t be idiotic.”

            “I’m serious,” the prince says, but Nezumi waves him off, freeing a hand from his pocket to do so.

            “I have news, if you’re done complaining,” he says, casually, but of course the prince is all attentive now, dropping his knees and sitting cross-legged, hands folded in his lap.

            “Good news or bad news?” he asks, completely serious, and Nezumi narrows his eyes at him.

            “Just news,” he says slowly.

            He doesn’t know if it’s good or bad, and there’s no time to figure it out now, what with the prince looking at him so expectantly.

            Shion nods, and Nezumi fights the urge to look away from him.

            “I’m leaving,” he says, evenly, watching the prince’s expression carefully, but all that changes is the arrival of the slight crease between his eyebrows.

            “Like, a vacation?” the prince asks – idiotic as usual, he can’t even take a break for a serious conversation.

            “No. Permanently. I’m – resigning. I won’t be working here any longer. I’m leaving the castle,” Nezumi explains, probably more words than necessary, but with the airheaded prince, he can never be sure how much elaboration is required.

            Now the prince’s eyes narrow. “Why?” he asks, and Nezumi can’t help but feel slightly surprised.

            He expected…opposition, of some sort. A little resistance. Not this odd calculation.

            He shrugs, shoulders rubbing against the wall behind him. “As much fun as it is waiting on you hand and foot, it’s not really the dream life.”           

            “What’s the dream life, then?” Shion asks, and Nezumi squints at him.

            “I don’t know, Your Majesty,” he says, slowly, irritated without quite knowing why.

            “So what? You’re going to leave without having a place to go?” Shion asks, legs uncrossing and feet thumping on the floor.

            “Don’t worry about me, I’ll figure it out,” Nezumi replies. “Unlike Your Majesty, I can take care of myself, you know.”

            “I’m not doubting you, but I don’t understand why. Why do you want to leave if you have no where you want to go?” Shion asks, standing up now, stepping closer to Nezumi, who wants to step back, but the wall is behind him.

            “I do have somewhere I want to go,” he says, carefully, unsure of the meaning in the prince’s gaze, and it’s unsettling.

            He always knows what the prince is thinking. He always knows what the prince wants. It’s always been his job to know, and he’s always done his job, but now – Now he cannot tell.

            “Where?” the prince asks, another step closer to Nezumi.

            Nezumi presses his shoulder blades to the wall. Feels his spine flatten against it.

            “Away, Your Majesty,” he says, quietly.

            “Away from what?” the prince asks, always so full of questions, never knowing when to shut up, never understanding that curiosity isn’t always the best thing, that knowing the truth isn’t always the wisest thing.

            But then, Nezumi is the one who taught him that – he only has himself to blame, and inwardly curses himself as the prince takes another step closer so that they are less than a foot apart, too close for comfort, the damn prince is always too close for comfort.

            “Just away,” he sighs, shaking his head. “I wasn’t going to stay at your castle for my entire life, Your Majesty. It’s not my home, it’s yours.”

            “Is that really what you think?” the prince asks, has the nerve to ask, has the nerve to look at Nezumi the way he does, so Nezumi glares back.

            “I’m not going to change my mind,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest, a barrier between him and the prince.

            “Even if I asked you to stay?” the prince asks, quietly, and Nezumi looks at him carefully, does not find the usual imploring puppy eyes he’s used to when the prince begs him for five more minutes of sleep, or to play a game of chess with him when he knows Nezumi has other chores.

            The prince’s face is blank, just waiting, waiting for Nezumi to answer his question without any emotion whatsoever, and Nezumi isn’t used to this, knows that it is his job to give the prince what he wants, but he doesn’t know what the prince wants, he cannot tell.

            “I’m leaving tomorrow, Your Majesty. In the early morning. Someone else will wake you. You no longer need your own personal staff member, so I’ve already distributed my duties amongst the other staff. You’ll be fine without me,” he says, the words he decided on while finalizing what to say to the prince, and they are easier to say than he expected, just one after the other, not thinking about them.

            The prince does not say anything. He just looks at Nezumi in the same way Nezumi cannot read, so Nezumi slips out from between him and the wall, uncrosses his arms, takes a deep breath, looks around the prince’s room and finds nothing that needs cleaning, no laundry that needs picking up.

            “Is there anything you need before I go, Your Majesty?” he asks, to Shion’s bed, and when he looks back at Shion, the prince has not moved, is staring at the wall.

            He turns at Nezumi’s question, looks at him for, what Nezumi realizes, will be the last time.

            He doesn’t say anything for several seconds, and Nezumi bows his head before turning to leave, but then the prince calls him back.

            “There is one thing. Can you call me by my name? Just once?” the prince asks, and Nezumi stares at the door, at his hand on the handle.

            He turns around.

            “Goodbye, Shion,” he says, speaking the prince’s name for the first time in his life, so he doesn’t know why it tastes so familiar on his tongue, he does not know why it sounds so natural in his voice.

            Shion does not reply, just keeps looking at Nezumi, so Nezumi turns again, and this time he is allowed to leave without objection.

*

The news of the prince’s engagement is everywhere.

            Even so, Nezumi is sure he would be able to avoid it – if he didn’t work at a newsstand, where the headlines glare at him all day.

            “Cute couple, don’t you think?” asks the other guy Nezumi works with, some kid who refuses to give up on attempts to befriend Nezumi.

            Nezumi recognizes the girl in the photograph holding Shion’s hand as one of the eligible bachelorettes. He can’t remember his objection to her at the time, but now he looks at the picture and thinks she’s beautiful.

            She truly looks as though she belongs on the prince’s arm, and the prince smiles into the camera.

            Always was handsome, that young prince.

            “You gonna go?”

            Nezumi looks up from the newspaper at his coworker.

            “’Cause I can man the stand. The ceremony is open to the entire city – see, it says here. Never been into these royal shindigs myself,” the kids says, grinning toothily, and Nezumi expects this is another befriending attempt.

            “I have no desire to attend the prince’s wedding,” Nezumi says slowly, glancing back at the picture of the boy he has not seen in person for two months, by this point.

            “Why not? Heard he’s a nice guy. Not like the stuck-up royalty you hear about – You know, he’s the reason for our good wages. Well, the queen is, at least, but still, I never heard anything against him.”

            “If you want to go, I’ll take care of the stand,” Nezumi says, shoving the closest newspaper away from him, not that it makes much of a difference.

            “You sure? ’Cause – ”

            “I don’t want to see the prince get married,” Nezumi replies, in a way that invites no further argument, so Nezumi’s coworker changes the subject to sports, which Nezumi tunes out, glad for the long lines at the stand – attracted by the headline, of course – that keep them busy until they sell out.

*

Nezumi is walking out of his callback at the local theater, pulling his hair up into a ponytail, when a hooded figure bumps into him.

            “Watch it – ” Nezumi snaps, but then the hood is pulled back, and Nezumi is staring at the prince.

            “Hi,” Shion says, smiling as he looks at Nezumi, who steps back and remembers to bow after a long pause.

            “Your Majesty,” he says, to the ground before straightening up, and the loudness of his heart that used to be normal is back, no longer normal; suddenly, Nezumi cannot remember how he used to ignore it with such ease.

            “You don’t have to do that,” Shion says, replacing his hood.

            “Are you lost, Your Majesty? I know the castle can be awfully big,” Nezumi replies, slowly, around the beats of his heart, and he catches Shion’s grin even underneath his hood.

            “Take me somewhere private. I don’t want anyone recognizing me,” Shion says, and Nezumi raises his eyebrows.

            “Are you telling me this trip was purely personal? I’m flattered. You should have sent a letter beforehand, I would have worn my nice shirt,” Nezumi says, leading Shion to his apartment, as he can think of nowhere else that will allow Shion to take off his hood without being seen.

            “You haven’t changed, Nezumi,” Shion says, arm brushing Nezumi’s as they walk in a gesture that is casual, is accidental – Nezumi reminds himself of this, keeps this in mind, will not think of it as anything but.

            “It’s only been three months, Your Majesty,” Nezumi replies, softer than he had intended.

            “Has it?” the prince asks, almost wondrously, and Nezumi glances at him but can see nothing of his profile because of the hood.

            The rest of the short walk to Nezumi’s apartment is taken by Shion’s ramble of the things Nezumi has missed, since his absence from the castle. Noticeably missing from his recap is any mention of the girl from the eligible bachelorette binder, the engagement announced a month before, the looming wedding, and Nezumi cannot tell if this avoidance is conscious or not.

            He opens the building door for the prince, leads him to his apartment, unlocks his door, and lets the prince into his new home.

            “Welcome to my castle,” he says, dramatically, gesturing to the cramped room as Shion takes a step in and stands in front of his bed – neatly made, just out of habit – and smooths a hand over the sheets.

            The prince takes his hand from the bed and pulls his hood off again, revealing the bedhead of his hair, the familiarity of his face that Nezumi knows better than his own – he never had much time to spend in front of mirrors, after all.

            All his time was offered to the prince, who always took it with the same smile he gives Nezumi now.

            “It’s so good to see you,” the prince gushes, and Nezumi closes his door behind him, shakes his head.

            “Don’t speak so earnestly, you’ll shatter my humility,” he replies, looking back at the prince to see his grin growing.

            Nezumi’s heart is much too loud, his skin is much too hot, he cannot figure out how he used to ignore such things, he cannot remember the ease with which he placed them out of his thoughts.

            “I’ve missed you so much,” the prince continues, obviously not giving a damn about Nezumi’s heart, about the heat of his skin, always so oblivious, this prince, always so naïve.

            “Do stop, Your Majesty, I’m blushing,” Nezumi says, wondering if it’s true, walking around the prince in case it is. “Want something to drink?”

            “I’ve asked about you. I know you work at the newsstand. I know you’ve been going to auditions at the theater. I think that’s great, Nezumi. I never knew you liked to act. You could always sing – Are they musicals, that you’re auditioning for? Or will they put on any Shakespeare? You’d be incredible, you’ve always been incredible,” Shion says, voice following Nezumi to his “kitchen,” which is really just a set of cupboards and a sink a few feet from his mattress.

            Nezumi peeks around the door to the cupboard with his teabags and sees that not only had the prince’s voice followed him, but the prince himself, standing again too close to Nezumi.

            “I’m surprised you’ve found time to stalk me, Your Majesty, what with falling in love and making wedding plans and all,” Nezumi says, mostly to remind himself, because sometimes he has to remind himself.

            Shion’s expression shifts, eyes hardening, jaw setting, though Nezumi cannot think of what he could have said to upset the prince.

            The prince has no right to be upset. The prince is not the one who has been hurt. The prince is not the one who is still being hurt.

            “Actually, I’ve found that falling in love takes really no time at all,” the prince says, in an odd tone, and Nezumi looks away from him.

            “How convenient, then,” he says, to his cupboard, grabbing two teabags and mugs and clinking them a little too hard on the counter – still, they do not shatter.

            “It was so easy I didn’t even know it was happening,” Shion continues, and Nezumi nods, hums what he hopes is a sound of approval.

            He fills the mugs with water, sticks them in the microwave because his stove hasn’t been turning on for the past week.

            “Nezumi,” the prince says, as Nezumi watches the timer on the microwave count down by the second.

            “I only have black tea, nothing fancy, but you never did like the flowery brews, so – ”

            “Nezumi,” Shion says again, and Nezumi glances at him from below his bangs.

            “Your Majesty,” he says quietly.

            “Am I crazy?” the prince asks, and Nezumi tilts his head, narrows his eyes.

            “There have been occasions that have suggested this, sure,” he says carefully.

            The prince steps closer to him even though there really is no space for that, not when Nezumi’s apartment is so small, not when his heart is so loud, not when he was already standing too close as it was.

            “What about right now?” the prince asks, truly looking confused, and Nezumi joins him in the emotion, hearing the timer of the microwave go off as if the appliance is miles away.

            “What are you talking about?” Nezumi asks, and the prince smiles in a sad way, peers at him in a hopeful way – Nezumi cannot help but think that in his absence, he has forgotten how to read this prince’s emotions correctly.

            “I accidentally fell in love with you,” the prince says, and Nezumi hears the words in the prince’s voice, sees the words on the prince’s lips, but still he is unsure of them, thinks maybe the beeping of the microwave has tangled the syllables.

            He watches the prince warily, waiting for an elaboration – maybe he is rehearsing his vows for the wedding, wants Nezumi to tell him what he thinks, needs Nezumi’s opinion.

            _Too corny,_ Nezumi could offer.

            _A little trite,_ Nezumi could say.

            _Not personal enough,_ Nezumi could advise.

            But he does not say anything.

            “What, no snarky comment?” the prince asks, lips turning up just slightly. “You’re not going to ask me if I practiced that in front of the mirror? If I couldn’t come up with something better after you read me all that Shakespeare? If I got that from a greeting card?”

            “Did you?” Nezumi asks, finally, and he notices the microwave has stopped beeping – what a stupid thing to notice, he has no idea why he’s noticing it, but he is, and he needs to add the teabags before the water cools again.

            “What? Get that from a greeting card? No, actually, I came up with it on my – ”

            “Did you really fall in love with me?” Nezumi interrupts, waiting for the prince’s denial, but instead he receives a nod.

            “For someone as arrogant as you, it shouldn’t be so hard to believe,” the prince replies, smile nearly full now.

            Nezumi squints at the prince.

            “That wasn’t very smart of you,” he says slowly, after a pause.

            The prince doesn’t reply, just looks at Nezumi, who remembers the tea, turns away to take their mugs from the microwave and add tea bags.

            “How does your bride-to-be feel about this?” Nezumi asks the mugs.

            “I don’t think we should be talking about my bride-to-be. I think we should be talking about us,” the prince replies, and Nezumi slides him his mug, looks at him.

            “What about us, Your Majesty? There cannot be an us.”

            “Do you want there to be?” the prince asks, as if it actually matters, as if the volume of Nezumi’s heart around the prince actually matters, as if the way Nezumi feels when Shion stands too close to him actually matters.

            “That’s irrelevant.”

            “Not to me.”

            “What are you going to do, Your Majesty, if I say yes?” Nezumi asks, sighing, taking a sip of his tea, but it’s hot and burns his tongue.

            “Probably kiss you,” the prince says, and Nezumi stares at the idiot for about three seconds, then leans closer, raises a hand to touch the prince’s cheek, to lift his chin up just slightly before he kisses him.

            It could be a chaste kiss, but it isn’t.

            Nezumi’s only teasing him, that’s all, just teaching him a lesson, if anything, and he ignores his heart, the way his pulse goes straight to his lips where they touch the prince’s, open against the prince’s, press against the prince’s. He does not think about how soft these lips are. He does not think about their warmth, the way the prince’s breath tastes, the way it shakes against the roof of his mouth.

            Nezumi pulls away and swallows his heartbeat before he speaks. “Now what, Your Majesty?” he asks, evenly, watching the prince carefully, ready for his rejection, the withdrawal of his foolish, rash words that he surely has not been sitting on for years – he knows nothing about love, this prince, to say it so casually like that, to say it like it can change anything.

            Shion says nothing, touches his lips for a moment, then drops his hand and looks at Nezumi. “Are you mad at me, Nezumi?”

            “Do people ordinarily kiss you when they’re angry with you, Your Majesty?” Nezumi asks, leaning against his counter, tracing his finger around the rim of his mug.

            “I’m sorry if you’re angry with me. But I respect you, and you taught me that to respect someone, you have to be honest with them, and that is why I was honest with you. And I think it’s unfair if you are angry with me for telling you how I honestly feel,” the prince rambles, throws out words like they’re free, doesn’t seem to realize that everything has a cost.

            Nezumi narrows his eyes. “Do you hear the things you’re saying?”

            “Yes, I do. I know it’s late. I know it’s inconvenient. But it’s true. And I need to know if it means anything to you,” Shion says, and Nezumi notes vaguely that the prince’s hands have curled into fists, as if he has something to be angry about.

            Nezumi exhales, thinks about the prince’s words, thinks about the prince’s gaze, thinks about the prince’s kiss, decides that he believes the prince, as foolish as it may be. After all, if anyone will be so stupid as to fall in love with the worst person, it is this idiot standing in front of him.

            Nezumi smiles slightly, regards the prince with what he hopes is not too much pity. “It means everything to me,” he says gently. “But I hardly matter, as you know, Your Majesty. It is the royal court that matters, and unfortunately, I don’t think your very eloquent confession will mean much to them.”

            “Are you saying that you love me?”

            “Would you like me to spell it out for you, Your Majesty?”

            “I would, if you could,” the prince says, taking a step closer despite the lack of room, and Nezumi chuckles, nearly against the prince’s lips – how close his lips are, all of a sudden, and at such frequent intervals too.

            “Well then, I love you, Your Majesty,” Nezumi says, and it’s nothing new, really, but the prince looks at him as if it is, as if it is groundbreaking, as if it is not normal – and nothing could be more normal, Nezumi thinks, than the fact that he loves this prince in front of him.

            “How long?”

            “Does it matter?” Nezumi sighs, and a few locks of the prince’s hair flutter with his exhale.

            “Yes,” the prince says, stubborn as usual, and Nezumi shrugs.

            “Always,” he replies, easily, because there is nothing startling about the truth, despite the surprise on the prince’s expression.

            “Are you a romantic, Nezumi?” the prince asks, leaning back from Nezumi to look at him fully, and Nezumi laughs at him.

            “No, I read Shakespeare for the violence,” he replies, rolling his eyes.

            “Are we star-crossed lovers, then?” Shion asks, somewhat sadly now, and Nezumi raises an eyebrow.

            “Shall you take the dagger, or shall I? I think you can, actually, I’d prefer poison,” he muses, but at the same time, lifts his hand again to the prince’s cheek, traces his fingers up into his hair, feels the soft locks displace against his skin.

            “We could both take poison,” the prince suggests, and Nezumi shakes his head.

            “There’s not enough.”

            “What did Juliet do? Kiss Romeo to get the last drops?” the prince asks, and Nezumi smirks.

            “You know that didn’t work, Your Majesty.”

            “Maybe she didn’t kiss him long enough,” the prince offers, and for as idiotic as he can be, Nezumi has to admit that this is a valid point.

            “Maybe,” he concedes, and this time the prince kisses him, and Nezumi does not pull away.

*

The pillows have been thrown off Nezumi’s bed, so he has to sit back against just the headboard, which is cool on his bare, slightly sweaty skin.

            He tries to pull the sheet further up his legs, but the prince is lying on it in a heap, making it rather difficult.

            As Nezumi gives it a forceful tug, the prince’s eyes open, and he glances up at Nezumi, smiles in a lazy way that steals the force from Nezumi’s tug so that his hand falls limply on the mattress between them, the cold forgotten.

            “Hi,” the prince says, stretching, and Nezumi runs his hand through the prince’s bedhead, which he is solely responsible for – and quite proud of himself, for the adorable dishevelment he has caused.

            “Good morning, Your Majesty,” Nezumi says, as he has said so many times before – but never like this, definitely never like this.

            The prince’s grin stretches until it freezes, and he jumps up, pulls the sheet up with him to cover his body.

            “Is it morning?” he asks, eyes wide, and Nezumi, whose hand has fallen from his hair, glances into the kitchen at the clock on the microwave.

            “Figure of speech, Your Majesty, you’ve barely been asleep for an hour.”

            “Oh,” the prince sighs, shoulders falling, and then he’s relaxing back onto the bed, curling next to Nezumi’s legs. “Mom would have worried.”

            “I imagine your bride-to-be would have worried as well,” Nezumi muses, and the prince peeks up at him.

            “She doesn’t live in the castle,” the prince says, and Nezumi squints at him, runs his hand again through the prince’s hair.

            “I think you may be avoiding the issue at hand, Your Majesty,” he suggests.

            “How?”

            Nezumi raises an eyebrow. The prince has been known, after all, to avoid reality, but even this seems excessive for him.

            “Oh, I forgot to mention,” the prince says, catching Nezumi’s hand in his and sitting up without letting go. “The bride-to-be isn’t really the bride-to-be any longer. Tabloids haven’t heard yet, so I’d appreciate it if you let me figure out a way to share the news with the city without causing a scandal.”

            Nezumi stares. “Did you bring a phone to bed and call her during act two?” he asks, skeptical.

            Shion smiles slightly. “I was rather engaged during act two, so no. I told her I couldn’t marry her three days ago, actually.”

            Nezumi leans back, the cool of the headboard pressing into his shoulder blades. “That’s a bit arrogant of you,” he replies, when he can speak again, and Shion tilts his head.

            “Why?”

            “You didn’t know how I felt three days ago. I could have refused you, you know, you’re not that irresistible.”

            Shion leans in, kisses Nezumi once, too quickly, leans back away before Nezumi even has the chance to fully close his eyes. “I already told you. I don’t want to marry anyone I’m not in love with.”

            Nezumi narrows his eyes. “Is that a proposal?”

            Shion laughs. “Who’s arrogant now?”

            Nezumi watches the prince carefully, traces a finger over the prince’s lips, drops his hand to his lap. “I’m not moving back into the castle,” he says, finally.

            The prince looks down, nods. “Okay. I guess I’m not surprised. But why?” he asks, to his leg.

            “I don’t belong there.”

            “Why not?” the prince asks, looking back up, crease back between his eyes, and this time, Nezumi raises his hand again, smooths a finger over it.

            “I’m not royalty, Your Majesty. I have no wish to be royalty.”

            “But you have a wish to be with me, right?” the prince asks, sounding so extremely hopeful that Nezumi has to laugh.

            “I do,” he concedes, and again, Shion looks pleasantly surprised and relieved at what has always been normal, has always been fact.

            “I’m supposed to be the king.”

            “Mmm,” Nezumi hums.

            “I can’t let down the entire city.”

            “I’m not asking you to,” Nezumi replies, trailing his eyes lazily along Shion’s scar, down to where it disappears under the sheet he has wrapped around his waist, rather annoyingly, in Nezumi’s opinion.

            “What are you asking me, then?” the prince asks, leaning closer.

            “I’m not asking you anything, Your Majesty.”

            “You’re not asking me to live here with you?”

            “Do you want me to ask you to live here with me?” Nezumi asks, somewhat surprised, stopping himself from laughing as he looks around his small apartment, thinks about the castle where the prince grew up and how different they are.

            “I don’t need dozens of rooms and corridors. I’ll miss the library, but we can visit whenever we want,” Shion says, scooting closer to Nezumi’s side, turning so that he is leaning against Nezumi, his head on Nezumi’s shoulder.

            “You won’t have any staff here. I quit being your servant boy, and won’t be going back to that,” Nezumi warns, and the prince laughs as Nezumi presses his lips into his hair.

            “I never needed a servant boy, Nezumi. I only ever needed you,” he replies, and Nezumi laughs into his hair.

            “That’s definitely from a greeting card.”

            “Why is it that Shakespeare can say things like that, and I can’t?” the prince complains.

            “Are you comparing your eloquence to Shakespeare’s?” Nezumi asks, incredulous, looking down at the prince, whom he always knew was an idiot, but not to this extent, surely.

            “Oh, shut up,” Shion murmurs, turning around and glaring at Nezumi.

            Nezumi smirks. “As you wish, Your Majesty,” he replies, softly, then kisses him again; it has always been his job to know what the prince wants, after all.

 

THE END


End file.
